


Dress-Up

by feralphoenix



Category: Mahou Shoujo Madoka Magika | Puella Magi Madoka Magica
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-18
Updated: 2012-04-18
Packaged: 2017-11-03 20:43:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/385731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/feralphoenix/pseuds/feralphoenix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kaname Madoka versus Candeloro.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dress-Up

**Author's Note:**

> _(regret, that other form of hope_ – flowers under the guillotine)

The thing that strikes you, that holds you captive, is that the witch is so very small. The nameless little creature in its yellow bonnet and streaming golden sleeves is tiny enough to hide under a teacup, tiny enough for you to slip into a pocket and have only its (blank doll’s) face peep out.

You’ve never faced an enemy that’s this tiny before, and that contributes to the surrealism of the situation. Witches as you know them are huge and terrifying creatures, monsters that could bite off a human’s head without any effort. Surely a creature this small couldn’t cause nearly as much harm to anyone. Rather than attacking, it continually hides behind the skirts of its uncomfortably familiar-looking minions. It would rather run away to somewhere safe than actually do battle with you.

It’s small enough for you to hide in your pocket. It seems unfair to fire on something that fears you. Crazy images of sneaking it home, concealing it from everyone and feeding it candies, crash into your head one after another. You’re reminded of trying to hide Amy in your room before your mama and papa found you out, and surely with that kind of experience behind you it wouldn’t be so hard to take care of something smaller—

You’re running out of excuses and you know it—witches are not pets, and size never has anything to do with destructive power; any witch will continue to feed on people’s despair until it’s killed—but even with your triceps jittering with the strain of keeping an arrow nocked, you are paralyzed. The simple truth is that you just don’t want to do this.

“Kaname-san,” Homura cries from behind you, her voice shrill with terror.

Your vision blurs. You blink, swallow hard against the lump in your throat, and brace yourself so that your knees will stop shaking. There isn’t any way out of this anymore. And if that’s your fault for not understanding things before you got into this mess, then you need to take responsibility.

“I’m sorry, Mami-san,” you say, and you fire.


End file.
